Choices
by Gumnut
Summary: It was his choice.
1. Decision

Choices  
Chapter 1: Decision  
By Gumnut  
12 May – 19 Jun 2004

The desert afternoon settled on the landscape like a blanket, the heat suffocating the life out of everything it touched. There was no wind. Brittle, dry, dead plants decorated the flat, dusty ground as far as the eye could see, their bleached white existence blurred by heat haze.

There was an utter silence broken only by the crack of old wood in the sun and the occasional cry of a distant bird.

He was just as silent, his body as still as the air surrounding it. The heat didn't affect him, though it registered on various sensors, the click of microscopic relays switching, calculating, supplying him with the requisite temperature gradient. His inner eye mesmerised by the tiny digits as they flipped over, Fahrenheit to the nth decimal point.

His scanner tracked back and forth relentlessly spouting readouts of the surrounding area in a variety of colours, one for each wavelength. He could tell the composition of the earth beneath him, the ratio of oxygen to nitrogen in the air, how many animals had tracked through this area during the past week. He could calculate the precise amount of time it would take to reach the nearest road, the exact path he would need to navigate to get there, the amount of dust his spinning wheels would create at his own simple command. He was capable and knew where to go.

Little good that it did him.

A brief movement in the far distance caught his scanner's attention for a moment, but whatever faint spark of hope it ignited was abruptly snuffed out as the lone bird fluttered away.

Safety systems repeatedly ran checks, the familiar network listing off all his operational systems. The one glaring malfunction, ally to his current predicament, stabbed at him each time the program rotated over it, his desperate attempts to force a spark of life into those burnt out, broken wires, vain and painfully frustrating.

But one sensor gave him continual feedback. One sensor pinned on one object that had ninety-nine point nine percent of his attention, and was the sole source of the agony sparking from circuit to circuit in his mind.

His vital signs monitor was working at peak efficiency, irrevocably focussed.

On the body beneath his wheels.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo-

Michael hated the desert, and this desert, in particular.

A part of him had to admit that the distant spires of golden rock, the windswept plain, even the stunted and struggling plant life did exude a certain amount of natural beauty, but every positive thought was almost always tainted with memory.

Pain.

Betrayal.

The dust beneath his fingertips as he was flung to the ground, his world shattered by a bullet.

It had happened not far from here, his death and ultimately, his rebirth. The painful metamorphosis of Michael Long into Michael Knight. Caterpillar to butterfly. Living breathing identity to an echo of a man, no past, only a present, and a future clouded by the determination of fate.

That moment was etched forever into his memory. The darkness of the sky, the soft dry breeze wafting off the plain, the scent of cooling earth and rock as night took hold. The sharp reflections of his car's headlights on the stark grey barrel of the gun pointed at him.

"Do you regret it, Michael?"

Kitt's voice broke the silence, shattering his train of morbid thought.

"What?" He hadn't realised he had drifted so far off into his own head. Through the windshield the road still stretched out, disappearing into a horizon blurred by heat haze. The hood of the black Trans Am swallowed the hypnotic white lines as they flew by.

There was not a soul or vehicle in sight, just desolate landscape and asphalt.

Kitt's voice was tentative. "You've been very quiet since we set out, and considering our current location, I surmised the subject of your brooding."

"Brooding?"

The AI ignored the flippant question. "Michael, do you regret it? We have never spoken of it, and I was wondering…"

"Kitt." How did he explain it? He barely understood it himself. He swallowed. "I would be lying if I said I had no regrets. It was a life, it was mine, and it was taken from me." The AI was silent, waiting. "But if it hadn't happened…"

If it hadn't happened he would be dead.

He stared down at the dash with its assorted lights, buttons, switches, and the unusually quiet voice box, and he smiled. "I would never had met you, and you would never have known the difference between…."

"A blonde and a brunette?"

He frowned at the steering wheel and opened his mouth to protest only to be cut off.

"Soccer and football?"

"Kitt-"

"Poker and blackjack?"

"Kitt!"

"Yes?"

He couldn't help it, he grinned. "As long as you know the important things."

"Seriously, Michael, I want you to know that though I might not fully understand the specifics of the trauma you suffered through, I do know it caused you pain." There was a pause. "And I would understand if you wished it had never happened."

The feel of the steering wheel beneath his hands, the familiar muffled rumble of the engine, the inflection of the voice of the AI.

"Kitt, you are the one thing in my life I could never regret."

The AI didn't offer a reply, but he didn't need one.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Repeated scans did nothing to improve the situation. No matter how hard he tried to search for a solution only one presented itself, and painfully.

The collision had thrown him sideways straight into Michael, forcing him under the car's chassis. Kitt had heard the bones breaking against his shell, felt the fragile human body smashed against his own. He had tried to prevent it, screaming his driver's name, tyres spinning uselessly in the dust, but his momentum had been too great, and when he finally came to a rest, Michael's broken body was sprawled beneath him, unmoving.

He scanned again, panic beginning to rise. Michael's blood pressure was dropping slowly but surely, a pool of blood soaking into the parched ground.

He shattered the silence, vocalising, calling for Michael to wake.

No response.

Nothing.

For the fifty third time he tried to force energy into his fried communication equipment, upping the voltage, praying for a result, but in the end only scorching the inside of his hood as sparks flew in electrical discharge, burning out a nearby perceptor.

The sudden pain shook him, straightened out his mind.

Panic would not help him.

He looked at the problem again. Calmly.

Michael lay at an angle beneath him, his left forearm and head just behind Kitt's passenger side front wheel, his legs sticking out the other side of the car, in front of his driver's side rear wheel. If he had landed any other way, Kitt would have been able to carefully edge off the fallen man. But in his current position, Michael's body prevented Kitt from moving in any direction.

If Kitt moved, he would run over his driver.

But if he didn't move, didn't attempt to go for help, Michael would slowly bleed to death while he watched.

But if he moved, he would run over one or more limbs, and Michael would be injured even further, possibly killed, crushed arteries bleeding his life out onto the desert floor.

But if he didn't move, Michael would bleed to death anyway.

But if he did move he might kill his driver.

But if he didn't move he would kill his driver.

There was only one solution.

But he had been programmed to protect, not to harm, particularly this human.

Track the problem again, there had to be another solution. His mind spun in disordered logic.

Time was a factor.

Solution. Solution. There had to be another solution.

The black Trans Am was still in the heat, but a voice rose in a wail that echoed the parched desolation of the landscape.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo-

Silence had reigned inside the car for several more miles, Michael still quiet, and Kitt respecting his mood. Eventually the monotonously flat road gave birth to the distant, almost tumbledown, shape of a disused building standing alone on the side of the old highway. Once the horizon spat it out, it wasn't long before they were pulling up beside it.

A possible lead was all it was.

An informant, a rather skittish informant at that, had spouted off this location after Michael had stared him down enough. His height, and the fist he had knotted in the man's jacket, seemed to have worked. He still wasn't a hundred percent sure the truth had been told, but he'd followed it up with a glib statement about returning to have a talk with the guy if he found out otherwise. Various guarantees of the man's reliability had tumbled forth after that. Michael had decided to take him at his word.

So here they were. Out in the middle of a desert in the middle of the day, Kitt's air conditioning working overtime, and him reluctant to open the door and let the weather in.

And their week had been going so nicely.

Some petty thief had gotten his hands on a shipload of experimental e-weaponry, some of which had been developed in the Foundation's labs. Devon had freaked, and Michael and Kitt had been called back from a rather nice vacation cruising down the Californian coast.

Too bad really, he had been in the middle of teaching Kitt the fine art of sinking Battleships. The fact that it had been most of Michael's battleships that had been sunk was irrelevant - it was after all simple logic – no, it had been the pleasure of listening to Kitt actually cackle each time one of those said battleships went down.

The AI's glee was infectious.

The game now sat abandoned on the back seat along with a pile of discarded beach clothing.

The building looked deserted. An old faded sign pointed a weathered arrow at the ruin declaring 'Joe's Last Stand' to be the only gas for a missing number of miles, and the only source on the planet for 'Joe's Super Steakburgers'. One look at the painted in and smashed windows told him it had been a long time since this place had seen anything but tumbleweed.

"Kitt, any sign of the guy we're looking for?"

The AI didn't reply for a moment, and Michael could almost hear Kitt's scanners interrogating the area. "There is one person in the furthest structure and a great deal of electrical interference." The frown in Kitt's voice was palpable. "I'm afraid I'm not getting a particularly clear reading. I would advise caution."

"Caution is my middle name, buddy."

The resultant snort from the voice box at that statement earned it a glare.

He was half out of the car when he was abruptly halted by a yell from Kitt.

"Michael!"

And the world suddenly dissolved into a painfully screeching sea of white.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The decision had to be made.

Time was running out and Kitt had to make a move before his choices bled away into the sand.

Only there was no choice.

It had to be done.

Michael forgive me.

He ignited his engine and with the greatest of care and speed, edged over the prone legs of his driver.

His own scream of denial did little to mask the snap of bones beneath his wheel.

And then it was done. He was free to move.

And move he did.

Frantically scanning Michael's life signs, he crept away from his injured driver.

Both legs were now broken, blood vessels crushed. Kitt's circuits shuddered as he read the damage he had caused, dusty tyre prints staining the denim of Michael's jeans. The hot sun now beat down on his partner, the red stains in the dirt drying as he watched. Time was at even more of a premium.

Turning away from the slowly dying man, Kitt steeled himself with determination, and without looking back, floored the accelerator.

He had to find help, and find it fast.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo-

"Michael!"

"Michael!"

Huh?

"MICHAEL!"

Kitt?

He opened his mouth to answer, but only managed to breathe in a lungful of dust, sprouting a hacking cough, which in turn shook his painfully pounding head.

Oh, god.

"Michael?"

"Kitt?" He opened his eyes and came face to face with tyre rubber. Well, whatever fancy substance Kitt's tyres were made of. What the hell had happened?

Only one way to find out.

He suppressed a groan as he pushed himself to his knees, grabbing his head when his vision swam again. "Status, Pal?"

"We were attacked, Michael, with what I suspect is one of the e-weapons Devon was so concerned about. An EMP pulse laced with both audio and visual harmonic disruption. Obviously designed to take out both electronic systems and the humans operating them."

"EMP?" Michael finally made it to his feet, only swaying a little, his equilibrium slowly coming back online. "Kitt, you okay?"

No answer.

"Kitt?" He leaned in closer to the car, peering into the shadows attempting to focus on the lights of the dash. Suddenly he wanted to see the dance of the red light in Kitt's voice box more than anything in the world. "Kitt!"

"I am fine, Michael." Pause. "However, I'm afraid to admit that my outgoing communications transmitter has been disabled. It appears my shielding was insufficient in that area."

Michael let out a sigh of relief. "As long as you are okay." And under his breath, "Thank god."

"'Thank Bonnie' would be more appropriate I think."

He cocked an eyebrow at the car. You and me both, pal.

"Okay, where are the bad guys?"

"Guy, singular. Once he had determined that we were neutralised, he proceeded to load a van on the other side of the property. Assuming he was attempting to escape us before you recovered, I took the opportunity to microjam his vehicle. He is currently fighting with the van's ignition system, and I must say his vocabulary of expletives even out does yours."

He didn't deign that comment with a reply. "Thanks, Kitt, you're the best. Stay here, back me up." He patted the roof of the car as he shut the driver's side door.

"Michael, please be careful. The functions that allow me to communicate with you via the comlink were on the damaged circuit board. I can receive you, but I can't transmit. And I am still receiving a great deal of electronic interference from what ever it is they have stored there."

"I'll keep that in mind."

He approached the building as quietly as possible and edged around the back. Sweat ran down his spine, the heat having gotten to him while he was eating dust. Fortunately, he had fallen into Kitt's shadow, otherwise he might be sporting a nice case of sunburn.

He spotted the suspect, and the van he was swearing at, just outside a rear rollerdoor. His head was buried under the hood of the vehicle, and he had to agree with Kitt's assessment of his language capability – colourful was the least description.

Michael smiled.

Time for a little felon football. He moved out from cover and approached from behind the van.

Unfortunately, said felon possessed a sixth sense and chose that exact moment to look up from his work.

His eyes caught Michael's, and Michael's caught his.

Those eyes widened.

And he bolted.

Michael didn't hesitate, and took off after him across the desert plain, his pounding feet throwing up dust.

The guy was fast.

And Michael's head kept thrumming a steady beat to the sound of his heels hitting the dirt. He was hot, sweaty, and not a little hurting.

God, he hated the desert.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

As Michael disappeared around the corner of the building, Kitt rechecked every system again. The diagnostic came back clean with the exception of his transmitter circuit. Annoyance tending towards frustration. He hated being compromised in any way.

He repeatedly scanned the area, tracking both Michael and the suspect as always, but suddenly his attention was drawn to the road. A semi-trailer abruptly appeared on the horizon, and, by Kitt's calculations, the speed limit was just a memory for its driver.

Must be a relative of Michael's.

Kitt sighed, briefly reflecting on the recklessness of his partner. He hated to say it, and probably never would, but he wouldn't have Michael any other way. His brashness, his vitality, his lack of regard for logic….the man was incorrigible.

And he certainly made life interesting.

When he wasn't on the verge of getting himself killed.

The semi was approaching his position fast. Michael had made it around to the rear of the building. A brief check on his vitals showed him to be hot and bothered by what was probably a headache, but other than that he was fine. The suspect….

The suspect suddenly took off into the desert.

Kitt activated his engine as he tracked Michael tearing off after him, but was distracted by the semi, which had abruptly breached the curb of the road and was now churning up dust across the desert plain, aiming for the two running men.

Emitting a series of binary numbers that equated to an electronic expletive, Kitt slammed the Trans Am into drive and took off, leaving a cloud of dust and falling gravel in his wake.

"Kitt, come get me."

Already on my way, Michael, hold on.

He dodged around the building, his tyres slamming into the dusty floor of the desert as his suspension bounced over plant and rock alike. The semi had a head start on him, its mass and speed ploughing across the landscape on a beeline for one or both of the men. Kitt swerved, avoiding larger obstructions like bushes and boulders that could potentially impede his progress, but the semi had no such concern.

The suspect was still running away from Michael like a proverbial jackrabbit, Kitt's driver hard on his heels.

The semi was going to reach Michael before he could.

Unacceptable.

Michael suddenly seemed to realise what exactly was on his tail, and increased his speed, glancing almost desperately over at Kitt whose engine roared in denial.

He activated the turbo boost in an attempt to gain ground. Michael! The semi was going to run him down.

Unable to collect his driver in time, Kitt did the only thing he could.

He threw himself, and the Trans Am, between the vulnerable figure of his driver and the oncoming rush of the semi's engine.

He had no hope of stopping the semi, his mass just wasn't great enough. But if he could deflect it….

The bull bar of the truck caught him on his left side, the MBS groaning under the strain, but miraculously holding. Kitt fired his right side boosters to keep himself stable, his tyres spinning in the dust desperately searching for traction.

His entire chassis trembled, the sound of screeching metal on metal abrading his audio sensors.

And the two vehicles fought for supremacy.

The semi was slowing, but it wasn't slowing fast enough. Kitt fired his boosters repeatedly, digging his virtual heels into the desert floor, his wheels spinning a cloud of aggravated dust as he was pushed sideways. Michael was so close, he had no chance of evading injury.

Michael!

A body broke against his passenger side door.

The semi suddenly stopped.

Kitt rocked towards the left, killing his boosters to stop himself from moving, and desperately scanned for the location of his driver. Michael!

The semi backed up, and Kitt was barely aware of the object of Michael's chase running back past him and climbing into the cabin of the truck. The semi backed off, churning up dust, and tore off in the direction of the road.

And Kitt was left staring at the body beneath his wheels.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  
FIN.


	2. Action

Choices  
Chapter 2: Action  
By Gumnut  
23 - 28 Jun 2004

Dolores was red. Blood red. Shiny, with a skin as smooth as silk.

She had to be, because Joe had spent all morning polishing her to get that shine. And now as he sat in her driver's seat, staring out across her beefed up hood at the stretch of road before them, he knew she was going to do him proud.

He flicked a glance over at Jimmy. The young upstart thought his canary yellow Mustang, custom paint job included, to be a match for his red Cougar. Time for a little elementary education.

They had chosen this place, this time, after Jimmy had challenged him last Thursday over a busted game of pool. It was really only a bit of fun, the stakes money-wise were paltry, but Joe had a point to prove and he was going to prove it in front of everyone.

They lined the two cars up, nose to nose, while the girls egged them on. Each had been equally catty towards the other since the bet was made, each eager to better the other.

Well, now they would find out.

Sam Begel stepped between the two muscle cars and raised his arms in the signal for readiness. Joe gunned the engine, revelling in the raw grunt of the throbbing pistons. Jimmy called out some smart remark, but he ignored him, focussing on the road that was soon to be his.

The arms dropped.

Two pedals hit the floor.

A cloud of acrid smoke billowed up above the desert as the two cars screamed and shot forward, leaving half their tyre tread on the pavement. Yells and catcalls from the half dozen spectators chased them into the distance, but Joe ignored it all. It was just him, his opponent, and the road.

The speedometer climbed, at an impressive rate, into the triple digits in seconds. The horizon flattened out, and the white lines of the road blurred into one. This was it, this is what he lived for. His heart thudded in his chest to the beat of Dolores' engine, and he flew.

Jimmy somehow managed to keep pace, an eager glance in Joe's direction, reflecting the other driver's emotion. Fast cars and speed, it was a rush. The two racing cars tore along the empty desert highway, nose to nose, the thunder from under the hood drowning out the drivers' excited yells as the roaring wind ripped them away.

God, it was good to be alive.

Joe made his move to edge out in front, but was quickly countered by the Mustang. Hmm, Jimmy was better than he thought. Time for some tactics.

He flicked a glance in the rearview mirror out of habit, only to have his attention snared by an object being reflected back at him.

What the?

His eyes darted back to the speedometer noting the digits the gauge was trembling at. My god!

A black blur swallowed the majority of his rearview mirror, and Joe was vaguely aware of the stunned look thrown in his direction by Jimmy, before the black Trans Am, suddenly on his bumper, threw itself into the air and leapt over the speeding Cougar.

It landed gracefully several feet in front of them, and, without missing a beat, tore off into the horizon, swallowed by it shortly thereafter.

Dolores' engine still throbbed, the two cars still belted along the deserted highway, but the two drivers seemed to drop their interest in the race.

They suddenly had the impression that they had both lost.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo-

Officer Fred Bangor loved his doughnuts. He knew it was a stereotypical thing for a cop to like, but, quite frankly, he didn't care.

And today he had a couple of his favourites. Blueberry jelly, cinnamon and sugar dusted, lovely and warm doughnuts. He'd bought them for his afternoon coffee break, but had been delayed by some punk who had decided breaking speed limits was amusing. The young upstart wasn't laughing anymore.

Now Fred was on his way to his favourite parking spot, just on the edge of suburbia where a rock outcropping gave a magnificent view of the desert beyond. A place where he could sit and enjoy his doughnuts in peace.

The traffic lights ahead of him dipped into the yellow and he slowed to a stop.

But then, instead of changing to red, the lights flicked back to green.

Bangor blinked.

Before he could react, a black missile plummeted into the intersection from above him, and with a squeal of tyres tore off down the road.

He blinked again.

In the distance, another set of lights did exactly the same thing, the fast dwindling black car dodging any vehicle that got in its way – via all three dimensions.

As the vehicle disappeared into the haze of distance, Bangor finally gathered his wits about him and swore. The patrol car was shoved into gear, and, with no small imitation of the Trans Am, it leapt into pursuit.

Doughnuts forgotten.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

His scanners tracked everything, giving him immediate information on the position of every object, every person, every obstacle between him and Michael's salvation.

Probability projections of the future locations of vehicles and pedestrians, course and speed requirements, turbo boost velocity, emergency braking distance, and that all consuming clock that continued to countdown an estimated time of survival. His electronic mind played the tools of his flight like a musical instrument, his urgency hurling him forward towards that homing signal he could receive but not respond to.

The semi was currently en route to Las Vegas, still catching up with the agent team, and Kitt knew them to be his only hope. There were other options, but in this instance, his existence being housed in the car was nothing but another obstacle. With his outgoing communication system disabled, the only way for him to communicate was via his voice box, and unfortunately apart from Devon and Bonnie, he doubted anyone would listen to him.

And he had no time to argue.

Kitt had always had confidence in his speed capabilities. He considered himself to be one of the fastest vehicles on four wheels – something Michael was quite proud of, in fact.

But now he just wasn't fast enough.

As he entered the outskirts of Las Vegas, he began to encounter more and more traffic and had to repeatedly slow down to avoid endangering lives. Several police units were now tailing him, at varying distances depending on his speed, but he paid them little attention. Michael and Devon could clear up any problems later.

Michael.

He jammed on his left rear brake causing the car to swerve abruptly, avoiding a bus that suddenly appeared in front of him from a side street. Sometimes probabilities weren't enough.

The Trans Am careened into an empty bus shelter, metal fragments and wooden seat sent flying. A cursory scan noted the absence of endangered persons, and he spun his front tyres back onto course and left the destruction in his wake.

The clock continued to tick.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo-

They called in air support.

They could do little else.

The black car tore through the outskirts of Las Vegas like the devil himself was behind it. The Skyview chopper could barely keep up with it. They could only watch as it darted in and out of lines of traffic, flung itself down side streets to avoid the evening rush hour, and simply leapt over those snarls it couldn't escape.

Its speed varied but given a straight stretch of road it clocked up well over 200mph.

As to who was driving the projectile, they had no idea, its windows were matte black. No one had yet had a chance to catch the license plate number, no one had yet been able to get close enough.

By the time the police department had mobilised itself sufficiently to attempt to halt the vehicle's progress, it had made its way through the majority of the big city and was making a beeline for the California Highway.

Once it hit open road, they had the distinct impression they wouldn't have a hope.

So they set up a roadblock.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Kitt was beginning to panic. His estimated time to reach the semi was getting larger and larger as each obstacle entered his path. He was becoming increasingly aware of the efforts of the law enforcement community to halt his progress, and he knew that if they succeeded he would have little chance of saving his driver's life as the typical amazement and tangle of explanations of his driverless state, and the list of laws he had recently broken, would steal the last of Michael's time.

The clock was ticking.

His last chance was the open road of the California Highway where he hoped to make up for lost time.

Unfortunately he found it blocked.

By police, their vehicles, and the backlog of traffic, inevitable at any interruption on a freeway.

As he approached, his first glance told him that turbo boost was not an option, and there were simply too many lives at stake to risk smashing directly through. They had been watching him.

They knew what he could and would not do.

For a moment he could almost sense the ghost of his driver sitting in his seat, assessing the situation. They always approached a problem together, both minds analysing, working together towards a solution.

His absence…..

Kitt's scanners tracked the scene, calculations bouncing back and forth regarding his options. He had to get through.

But the road was blocked.

So.

He wouldn't use the road.

His engine didn't miss a beat as he turbo boosted over the guardrail that lined the thoroughfare, all four wheels crunching in the gravel of an empty parking lot. He threw up stones as he accelerated on a course parallel to the freeway and circling the roadblock.

There were indignant exclamations from the direction of the traffic jam, one or two drivers shaking fists at him, while others simply stared at him in astonishment.

He took out a fence and sent two rectangular garbage bins on wheels spinning as he reached the end of the first parking lot and burst into the next. He narrowly missed a parked car, and side swiped a tree, leaping over a brick wall into someone's back yard, a child's swing set bouncing off his hood. His back wheels threw up neatly manicured turf as he ploughed through a garden shed and the fence beyond it.

Police cars were already peeling away from the roadblock, now they were aware of his tactics, but since they were unable to jump the freeway guardrail, they could only attempt to track his progress.

There was a brief reprieve from property damage as he broke through onto a minor service road and accelerated.

He tracked incoming fire, and bullets started pinging off his bodywork, his tyres absorbing several shots.

The service road enabled him to make it past the majority of the roadblock and leave most of his pursuers behind, but it swerved off in the wrong direction before giving him a clear point of entry back onto the freeway.

His path was blocked by a building.

A glass sculpture of a building with the word 'Microsoft' emblazoned on its side.

Scanning only took a microsecond.

It took only a few more for Kitt to turbo burst through the structure, over the guardrail once again, and for his tyres to grip the asphalt with a screech of rubber protest as he accelerated down the now nicely empty road.

His pursuers followed him into the slowly setting sun, but they were now of no importance. He focussed on the signal that was leading him to the semi.

The clock was ticking.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Several miles away the Chief of the Nevada Highway Patrol picked up his phone. The report at the other end was short, succinct, and not a little frustrated. Less than five minutes later his fingers interrupted the call and dialled another number. He swore under his breath.

Damnit, Knight, what the hell are you up to now?

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Devon held the phone out from his ear and was still able to hear the strident tones of the angry law enforcement chief quite clearly. "For the love of god, Miles, what does he think he is doing? We're talking property damage in the tens of thousands, what possibly could be worth that?"

The receiver continued to scream at him, but he ignored most of it, calmly tapping into the computer the commands to access Kitt's location. The required map came up, Kitt appearing as a flashing red point moving rapidly across the screen in their direction. He was still a good hundred and twenty miles from the semi's location, but a quick readout of his speed showed him to be putting everything he had into his flight.

He signalled Michael.

No response.

He tried several times, each as fruitless as the first. Damn.

"Devon? Devon!"

He abruptly turned his attention back to the Patrol Chief. "I'm sorry, John, I am unable to give you an explanation. We are both well aware that Michael does not flout law heedlessly, I'm sure he has a worthwhile explanation."

"Well, it damned well better be. I have the LVMPD on my tail, and a repair bill worth my job if that reason doesn't materialise."

"I will inform you as soon as I have further information. Thank you for informing me, John."

The Chief didn't answer, he just hung up, the clatter of the cradle at the other end almost as loud as the voice it replaced.

Devon set the phone down and stared at the screen and its rapidly moving dot. As he called out to Bonnie, a familiar knot of worry started to form in his gut.

He was sure Michael was determined to give him an ulcer.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Kitt?

The word bounced back and forth in his mind. Kitt?

He had been calling his name.

He opened his mouth to speak, but dust danced on his tongue, and he coughed, warm fluid spilling softly between his teeth. The movement shook him, pain the only feedback. He would have cried out, but he found himself unable to move. Something was broken.

Almost fearing what he would see, he slowly opened his eyes.

Black.

Kitt?

His eyes slowly focussed as if reluctant to reveal his surroundings. It wasn't black, it was only dark. A faint tinge to the sky told him the sun had only recently gone down, and the stars were still attempting to shine through the remnant light.

A cool breeze wafted across his face bringing the dry flavours of the parched land with it. He was in the desert. In the dark. In the desert. His barely functioning brain immediately flung up the memories associated with that scenario.

In the desert.

Hurting.

Alone.

Kitt?

He managed to move the fingers of his left hand, fingernails scratching at the dust, a scrap of vegetation crumpling in the sand caught there.

Kitt?

Alone.

Hurting.

In the desert.

Kitt?

Silence.

Kitt?

There was no answer.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo-  
FIN.


	3. Attempt

Choices  
Chapter 3: Attempt  
By Gumnut  
3 Jul 2004/27 Nov 2005

It was born of the Pacific, and, as with all weather systems generated by the great ocean, it was tenacious. It was only small for its species, but the storm hit the coast of California like a sledgehammer.

Los Angeles bore the brunt of it, its people hurrying for cover as the warm evening turned to torrential rain. Vague flickers of lightning bathed the city, competing with the city lights for dominance.

It was quick, ten minutes of gale forced fury that blew the roofs off several houses, drenched unprepared pedestrians, and stranded Mrs O'Neill's dog in the middle of a flooding stream. By then the angry clouds had encountered the hills above Hollywood and were pushed higher, rain freezing in the upper atmosphere, a recalcitrant drizzle the only remaining precipitation, as the winds forced it over the higher altitude geography.

Determined to push further inland, the squall was caught by the dissipating heat of the Mojave Desert, its warmth adding energy and pushing the clouds even higher, lightning arcing in an angry display that dominated the sky. Clouds piled on clouds, pushing ever higher, until near the Nevada border, the fragile balance that kept the water in the air broke.

And the sky fell.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Kitt saw the weather coming and compensated. The high beam of his headlights suddenly refracted by the falling water, his tyres losing twenty-three percent of their grip on the road.

An outside observer might have found it odd that the Trans Am seemed to be making excellent progress through the downpour without the use of windshield wipers, but Kitt didn't even spare a thought for the unnecessary equipment. His sight was unimpaired, the night as clear as day as his scanners swept the road.

It had taken him too long. The digits on his internal clock glared at him accusingly. Michael was alone in the desert dying.

He tracked the prevailing direction of the storm that periodically lit up the road.

The data danced across his circuit boards.

The denial that followed it, translated directly into yet another attempt at increasing speed, one that failed as miserably as the previous dozen or so times.

The semi's beacon was close.

And all his hope with it.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Devon Miles was pacing. It was an activity he had become far too familiar with over the last few years, the source of his anxiety the same as always.

Michael Knight and his accomplice in anarchy, the Knight Two Thousand.

The drum of the rain on the metal skin of the semi attempted to thwart thought despite the soundproofing, and the thrum of the speeding engine only added to the clamour, a counterpoint to his aggravated pulse.

"Here they come."

Bonnie's voice shook him from his reverie, and he joined her at the computer console as she flicked to the view from the exterior cameras. The sound of the rain suddenly quadrupled as she activated the ramp at the rear of the trailer. The heavy tracks lowering down to the wet asphalt as the highway sped past beneath them.

The open door let the violent weather in, gusts of cold wind playing with his hair, but the video monitor captured his sole attention.

Twin beams of light tore down the other side of the divided highway, and as Bonnie switched to infrared, the familiar outline of the Trans Am came into focus. Kitt was still pushing his limits, and before Devon could blink, the car had breached the wide median strip, tyres spinning up rain soaked dust into a spray of mud.

"They are definitely in a hurry."

Bonnie's statement of the obvious didn't require an answer.

The Trans Am leapt onto the semi's side of the road and with a screech of wet rubber shot into the safety of the trailer.

For a split second, Devon's heart jumped, the image of himself and Bonnie crushed up against the rear wall, flashing across his mind, but the car thudded to a halt in its usual position.

"Bonnie!" Kitt shouted the name.

Devon stared at the Trans Am as its windows faded from black to clear to reveal an absence.

"Kitt, where is Michael?" His heartbeat increased as scenarios started dancing around in his head.

The AI's voice was strained almost beyond capacity. "Michael has been injured." And then it all tumbled out.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Bonnie fingered the broken circuits as Devon's voice became strident. She pitied the person on the other end of the phone.

"What do you mean there are none available? This is a life and death emergency!" She could hear the voice on the other end as equally determined as Devon's. "When will one become available?" Bonnie reached for the replacement circuit, flipping it into place neatly. "He could be dead by then!"

A pain-filled sound emitted from Kitt's voice box, and she flinched. "Kitt, did that hurt? I'm sorry." She fiddled with the soldering iron, fumbling in her haste.

"No." The syllable was simple, but it told her much.

"Michael is strong, and he's a fighter, Kitt." She knew she was attempting to convince herself as well as the distressed AI. "He is too stubborn to die on us."

Kitt didn't answer.

Devon slammed the phone down. "For the love of god!"

Bonnie flinched. Devon's distress was a palpable as Kitt's, though he expressed it differently. The sound of fingers punching the phone digits for the seventh time came as no surprise.

She soldered the last connection on Kitt's transmitter circuit and tested the line. The gauge came up green.

"Okay, Kitt, test it for me."

There were no visible signs of activity but she knew what he was doing. It was the same thing she would have done in his place.

His electronic voice wavered as he reported. "I am receiving a confirmation signal from Michael's comlink, but he does not respond."

She dared to ask. "How is he?"

Again Kitt didn't answer, but his display lit up with Michael's vital signs. She swallowed. "He is strong, Kitt. He's fighting."

The silence from the AI was unbroken.

"It is not your fault."

Still no answer.

"Kitt-"

She was interrupted by an explosive outburst.

"Damnit!" The receiver hit the cradle violently again. Devon rarely swore, actually come to think of it, she couldn't recall him ever swearing. She watched through Kitt's windshield as the frustrated man ran a hand through his hair. Then his eyes caught hers.

"The City of Las Vegas is unable to provide us with air support. The entire city is on emergency standing. This… " He waved a hand heavenward. "This storm has caused flash flooding across the entire north west quadrant of the city. Michael has been placed in a queue!"

The Trans Am's engine suddenly roared into life. She jumped. "Kitt?"

"I can't leave him out there." The AI's tone was firm.

Neither Bonnie nor Devon refuted the statement. There was silence with the exception of Kitt's rumbling engine for a moment before Devon answered him. "Kitt, let me call the nearest hospital to Michael's position. You can meet the ambulance en route."

"They will not be fast enough." The tone was matter of fact.

"I know." Devon held up a hand. "Meet the ambulance and take on the doctor and his equipment. The ambulance can trail behind you. The doctor can assist Michael when you reach him until the ambulance arrives on the scene." He reached for the phone again.

There was a pause. "Very well." Kitt activated the remote for the ramp and the weather once again entered the trailer.

"I'm going with you!" Bonnie shoved her repair equipment to the side, and pulled the car door shut before Devon could protest. A little surprisingly, the man didn't even lift an eyebrow, and she was grateful.

Kitt didn't even acknowledge her presence.

But suddenly the time for thought was over as the AI slammed the car into reverse and they shot out into the dark of the wet night.

Her last sight of Devon was one of a terribly worried old man, bent over the ever-present phone.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo-

A single drop of water woke him this time.

It landed on his cheek and ran down the curve of his face, tracking along his upper lip before dripping quietly to the sand beneath him.

He blinked, tried to move his head, and regretted it immediately. Bright lights danced across his line of sight. He squeezed his eyes shut willing the lights away. God.

Another drop of water landed on his face. What?

He slowly opened his eyes again. Dark. It was still night, though no stars shone now. He blinked again attempting to focus. Still? Where was he?

Kitt?

The world suddenly lit up in a flash of vibrant light, scorching his retinas. He flinched.

A moment later the world rumbled, the ground beneath him trembling to the low frequency vibrations of thunder. His body trembled with it.

Shit.

Kitt, where are you?

Rain began to hit his face, picking up in pace.

"Kitt?"

He barely heard his own voice as the falling water kicked up dust. He coughed as it caught in his throat.

Oh, god!

His entire body lit up with fiery pain, quickly echoed by another brilliant flash of lightning. As the thunder shook him, he cried into the night with what little strength of voice he had. Warm liquid mixed with the falling rain.

Kitt?

Almost afraid to move any part of himself, he forced his left arm to bend, bringing his comlink within voice activation range. He trembled with the effort, sharp sparks of pain dancing up and down his entire left side, but he managed to speak the word again. "Kitt?"

The response was immediate.

"Michael!"

The comlink crackled as another flash lit up the landscape.

"Kitt?"

"Michael, we are on our way."

Michael's eyelids suddenly interrupted his sight, only the rumble of the next peal of thunder shaking him awake.

"Michael!"

"Kitt?"

It seemed to be the only word on his lips.

"We're coming, Michael. I promise."

"Kitt, I need you." The words were whispered and instinctual. Kitt always came when he called for help.

The rain was soaking his clothes, and the wind was picking up, chilling him. He shivered.

"Cold."

"Michael, you have to stay awake." Bonnie's voice.

"Bon…nie?" His throat caught again, forcing another cough. He shuddered, grimacing at the resultant response from his body.

"Bonnie is with me, Michael. We are trying to reach you as fast as we can."

The rain came down harder and he began to shiver continually as his body fought to maintain temperature.

With the shivering came pain.

"Agh." His breath was taken away with his voice.

"Michael!"

"K…itt."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

This time the police knew to stay away and it made Kitt's job all that little bit easier. Most of the traffic had disappeared, everyone hiding from the rain, and as he skirted Las Vegas, the roads were almost deserted.

Except for the water.

In places, streams had become rivers, flash flood breaking banks, and more than once Kitt found himself taking to the air to avoid swimming.

There was silence in the cabin. Neither Bonnie nor the AI really wanted to say anything, both lost in their thoughts. After that one contact with Michael they had been unable to reach him again. His vitals were still dropping and Kitt was terrified that despite every effort they would be too late.

They made it through the heart of Las Vegas in record time, tearing up freeway until they had to leave it to pick up their passenger at North Vista Hospital.

With co-ordination from Devon, they located the waiting physician as he dashed out of the Emergency Department; the accompanying ambulance having already left and gaining ground from the moment Devon called.

Doctor Palmer was a short dumpy man with a pair of quick eyes that darted over the extravagant dash of the Trans Am. He didn't comment, his questions immediately about the condition of his patient. But he did raise an eyebrow when Kitt replied verbally, Michael's vital signs flashing up on his monitor as the car spun its wheels on the wet pavement and left the curb.

"Who's driving?" His eyes were wide. Bonnie hadn't lifted a finger despite the fact she was in the driver's seat.

"I am, Doctor. Please do not be concerned."

He eyed the dash with some amazement, and not a little suspicion. "It is the safest way in these conditions." Bonnie flicked a worried glance in the doctor's direction. "Kitt is fully capable of navigating the storm without difficulty." The AI barely noticed the praise, his mind elsewhere, but he did notice that Bonnie did not explain further and the doctor was left wondering exactly what type of vehicle he had stepped into.

After that the journey continued in silence.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo-

Officer Bangor never did get his break. First he lost the yahoo in the black Trans Am - he hadn't had a hope of catching him, he was simply too fast. And then the storm had marched in and forced him into overtime.

He was currently standing in the rain wearing his glow in the dark traffic gear and redirecting the few travellers on the road away from a flood damaged bridge. He was wet. He was cold. He was grumpy. And God pity the poor souls who encountered him.

"I'm afraid, ma'am, that you will have to find an alternate route. This bridge is unstable and impassable."

"But I have to get home within the hour. My husband will worry."

"There is no choice, ma'am." The woman seemed to think the situation was negotiable. Why, he had no idea. It wasn't as if it wasn't half obvious. The raging torrent in the usually calm riverbed was splashing over the bridge roadway.

She glared at him. "Unacceptable."

"And what do you expect me to do about it?" This was ridiculous.

"I pay my taxes. I expect to be able to use the roads I pay for."

Stupid. Stupid. "Unavoidable, ma'am. Please move along." Another set of headlights appeared in the distance.

She continued to glare at him and her car didn't move. He sighed, and then frowned. Those lights were approaching awfully fast.

"Ma'am?" Move you stupid woman.

She didn't answer, distracted, as her car was flooded with the glare of the oncoming vehicle.

"What the-?" The car wasn't slowing down. He stepped away from the woman's Camaro and began waving his arms. The bright array of headlights bore down on him and a voice spoke clearly from the dark beyond. "Officer, please make way."

"Stop! The bridge is damaged!" He waved his spotlight urgently. "Stop!"

The car wasn't going to stop. Bangor's brain advised him of this just in time to back out of the way. As the speeding vehicle flew past him his flashlight caught the black skin of the Trans Am he had encountered earlier in the day. "Hey!"

"Thank you, Officer."

There was the sound of firing jets and the black ghost leapt into the air and easily sailed across the small flooded gorge. A brief flicker of red taillights and it was gone.

Bangor stared after it for a moment, his mouth open.

Damn yahoo.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo-

Kitt missed a beat the first time Michael's heart did.

His scanners combed the road, but his processor clung to that heartbeat.

And it stuttered.

No!

Wet rubber skidded in the dark as his tyres hit mud and brown muck sprayed up around them.

Please no!

The glare of his spots lit up a body lying in the rain.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  
FIN.


	4. Code Blue

Choices  
Chapter 4: Code Blue  
By Gumnut  
27-29 Nov 2005

Electricity powers life.

Be it AI or human, everything living runs on electricity. It runs though the muscles, the neurons, the circuits, and the engine. It provides for decisions, actions and attempts, it beats the heart, breathes the lungs and spins the wheels. It powers life.

And it filled the gel-covered pads held against Michael's bared chest and screamed across his nerves in a surge that arched his back off the driver's seat.

Rain continued to drum on the roof of the Trans Am, its steady beat drowning out the sounds of panicked breathing in its cabin, but did not hide the alarm of the flatline displayed on the vitals monitor.

"Again, doctor." Kitt's voice was firm but strained.

"I'm sorry, but-"

"Again."

The pads whirred as they charged. The dull thud as electricity hit human flesh. Michael's back arched again.

The monitor bleeped for a moment, but returned to its previous droning whine.

No!

"Again."

"I'm sorry, Kitt."

"I said, 'Again'."

"Kitt." This time from Bonnie, standing beside the car holding an umbrella to protect the doctor and his equipment…tears running down her face.

"No! My purpose is to protect his life. Do it again!"

"There is no life to protect!"

"DO IT AGAIN!"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

A lone car on the desert highway.

The sun beat down on black paintwork singing with the power of the engine beneath its hood. It was travelling fast, ever so fast, its aim purposeful and true.

And its windows as black as its body.

Kitt now had some feeling as to how Michael felt about the desert. The stark dry plains with little more than half dead scrub for decoration. There was some majesty, some arching spires and spectacular monoliths sculpted by wind and time. But memory etched designs into all of them.

His memory was perfect, unclouded. But he was sentient, burdened with emotion and emotional memory burned. The sound of bones beneath his tyres. The call of his name when he was needed, yet unable to get there. Rain mixing with tears on his paintwork.

Kitt hated the desert.

But that wasn't his focus at the moment.

It hadn't taken him long to find them. It was amazing what could be done with fatalistic determination.

He had license plates, physical descriptions, places and titles of ownership. A short visit to Michael's informant had also proven quite useful…after the man had stopped screaming at the car sitting amongst the remains of his living room.

His laser had also proven to be effective.

So here he was, burning up miles on the desert highway.

Alone.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

He had sat in the hospital parking lot for a long time, mind revisiting decisions, assessing his actions. There had to have been something he could have done to prevent this. Something to stop it all from happening. It was his job to protect Michael.

And instead…

Bonnie was the first to visit him; to attempt to convince him it wasn't his fault.

Soft fingers on his shell. "Kitt, you did what you could."

"It wasn't enough."

"It was all you could do."

"It wasn't enough."

"Kitt-"

"I'd like to be alone, please."

Her eyes had shuttered at that, her defences rising. Kitt wasn't the only one in pain and for a moment he regretted his words. He wasn't designed to hurt.

But he did.

And look what he had done.

He'd started his engine and once she had taken a surprised step back, he had driven off. He didn't say where he was going. He didn't really know. They could track him with the homing beacon if they so chose.

He needed to be alone.

Where he couldn't hurt anyone.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

His scanners picked up the semi long before it rose above the horizon and into visual range. Kitt's tyres sung on the asphalt and at a whim, he turned on his stereo - not to the classics station, no, to the rock station, to Michael's station. He could almost fool himself that Michael was with him, harsh beats throbbing within the darkened cabin.

The only thing missing was Michael's off key singing.

Guitars ground out the melody while the singer screamed out injustices again the soul.

Rather appropriate really.

Eventually the dark form appeared on the horizon, melting into existence through the heat haze.

The Trans Am engine didn't miss a beat.

Secondary and primary scanners fixated on it, drawing information from it like blood from a vein. The trailer was full of the e-weaponry he and Michael had been looking for. Packed to the seams, in fact. He even managed to identify the little grenade that had been thrown at them that fateful day.

His engine purred.

Two men in the cabin. Med scan brought up their profiles. The two men responsible. The scan narrowed and Kitt brought his laser online.

He didn't know if they had time to see him approach, he didn't even know if they cared, but his approach was so fast, he doubted they would have been able to do anything even if they did.

The stereo was still blaring as he crossed the centre line to overtake.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Devon was, of course, the next person to try and make him feel better.

The signal came in, and he could have simply chosen to ignore it, but if he had, no doubt the director would worry and, no doubt, send someone out to look for him….something he wanted to avoid. He valued his privacy at the moment, something he rarely had or rarely needed, but right now….he wanted to be alone.

"Kitt?"

"Yes, Devon?"

"Where are you?"

"Near the hospital." It wasn't a lie, despite its vague definition.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" It was unusual for Kitt to be rude to the director…but this wasn't usual circumstance.

Devon didn't reply immediately, his eyes ducking a moment before coming up a little glassy. "Do you have the mission reports ready?"

"Transmitting data now." Everything that had happened. He watched the information march through his processor and spin itself into the neat packages of outgoing transmission. All the events, Michael, the desert, his decisions, the rain, the tears, everything.

Devon's voice dropped. "Kitt, how are you?"

"I am functioning." Within normal parameters? Highly unlikely. But he was functioning. He was.

For the moment.

Then the inevitable. "It wasn't your fault."

"It was my choice."

"But it wasn't your fault."

"Yes, Devon." What exactly he was agreeing with was unclear and the expression on Devon's face reflected that.

"Very well. I would like you to report back to the Las Vegas branch within the day."

"I would like some time to myself."

Devon blinked, his concern immediately coming to the forefront. "Kitt-"

"I am well. I would simply like…some time."

The director seemed to consider. It was understandable. One doesn't usually let unmanned machinery run around the city simply because it needed some time to itself. Normally it would have been with Michael-

He cut the thought. He wasn't ready to think it yet.

"Within the day."

"You have my word."

Devon eyed him through the video link, but didn't comment. He fell back on what Kitt knew he would fall back on…"It wasn't your fault."

"Everyone is entitled to an opinion." And he cut the connection.

He needed time to think.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The first thing he did was swerve out in front, obstruct, and force them to stop.

The two men in the cabin yelled at him, the truck's horn attempting to drown out the music pouring form his speakers. So he turned the music up until the beat started to shake his processor. There was something magical about riding the music, something like flying, and Kitt soared.

Once the truck had come to a complete halt, Kitt drove ahead a hundred metres or so before performing a one-eighty and facing his foe. If the Trans Am could have physically snarled, it would have.

One of the men hung out the window of the semi-trailer, now stopped dead in the middle of the road in the middle of the desert, and yelled, "What the hell do you think you are doing!"

"You have stolen goods. The authorities are on their way." Or they would be as soon as Kitt contacted them.

The men didn't seem to appreciate this, their response, to put the semi in motion once again. Kitt noted with some satisfaction that the truck still bore remnants of their previous encounter, the front grill mangled rather badly. There had obviously been some hasty repairs done on the vehicle.

Kitt smiled to himself.

This was no Goliath encounter. These men had no idea what they were dealing with.

The semi was gaining speed and bearing down on the comparatively small Trans Am, but Kitt didn't hesitate. He slammed on the accelerator and smoke roared up over his suddenly spinning wheels. The black car shot forward and within moments had collided with the semi's right front wheel.

Rubber, steel and breaking axle crumpled under the onslaught of MBS and the truck swerved off the road, catching a rock outcropping and tipping onto its side.

Michael's plan to attack Goliath would have worked after all.

If it hadn't been Goliath.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

After his conversation with Devon, Kitt lost himself in his thoughts. What could he have done that would have changed events? How could he have prevented it all?

What would Michael have wanted him to do?

The answer to that question was obvious. The few times Michael had been in his place there was one thing he had always done.

Kept going.

Chased down those responsible and brought them to justice.

Kitt was well aware of the anger his driver harboured. Michael was well known for going off the deep end and charging off to right what was wrong. It was one of the personality traits that enabled him to survive and continue to fight despite everything that had happened to him in his relatively short life.

And there was a case pending. Out there somewhere were the people responsible for all this. The people who had left Michael to die in the desert.

Again.

From somewhere deep inside something welled up in the AI. Something buried and unacknowledged.

An anger.

At the injustice. At the cruelty. At the simple unfairness.

At the people who had put him in the position to make such a choice and cause such pain.

Usually it was Michael who got angry.

But Michael wasn't here…

And Kitt's homing beacon was suddenly denied power.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Kitt stared at the wreck of the semi-trailer.

He was still a fair distance off having slowed down after the collision and turned around, but not approached.

He was simply staring.

The two men were alive. Not particularly healthy, but alive. One was unconscious in the passenger seat; the other was attempting to climb out of the cabin.

Kitt continued to watch as the man slipped and broke his leg on the way down. The desert floor was remarkably unforgiving.

When the man finally saw him and called out for help, Kitt did quietly approach, his engine idling in silent mode and no longer playing the music, his windows still as black as his paintwork.

"Do you need assistance?" Was that sarcasm?

The man swore at him…or the non-existent driver he assumed was hidden by those black windows.

"Courtesy never goes astray, you know."

More profanity.

An idle thought of what he could do to this man…of what he had done to Michael…flitted through his processor. He had the capability. Thoughts of KARR quickly followed. No, he wasn't KARR. He was Kitt.

And Michael was his survival.

"I could kill you." His voice was quiet, calm, his scanner tracking idly back and forth. "I could do to you what you did to my partner."

That prompted a great deal of pleading, some denial, lots of whimpering and a pile of pathetic excuses.

Kitt slipped out of silent mode and revved the engine just to shut him up.

The man froze.

And Kitt stared at him.

The man stared back.

And just for a moment, the AI felt the power of the position he was in. Never before had he considered exactly what he was capable of quite this way.

A faint and somewhat tremulous transmission, "Kitt?"

The AI jumped. "Michael?"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

"DO IT AGAIN!"

The doctor complied and this time…this blessed time…the flatline wrinkled. And again. And again.

A missed beat.

Please, Michael.

Another wrinkle.

It wrinkled again.

And again.

And again.

"He's stabilising."

Kitt's scans told him of how thin the thread his driver was holding onto. Bonnie was still crying, tears of what, he guessed, she no longer knew. The doctor busied himself with IVs of fluid and plasma, desperate to replace what Michael had lost and was still losing.

The Trans Am's upholstery was damp, but not with rain.

They hadn't been able to move until Doctor Palmer had Michael sufficiently stabilised and the bleeding controlled. But once they were able to, the AI drove for his life.

Kitt's medical scanners didn't pause, cycling continuously, his eyes on his driver.

But Michael didn't regain consciousness the entire trip back to the hospital.

Nor the next day.

Or the day after that.

Doubts started circulating. The words 'brain damage' and 'lack of oxygen' were bandied about and Kitt's terror returned. He sat in the hospital parking lot, tapped into the building's systems until he could stand it no longer.

And left.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

"Hey, buddy. Where are ya?" The voice was weak, but the emotion was there.

"Michael?" For some reason belief was difficult.

"Kitt? You okay?" Michael's voice suddenly became a little stronger as concern rose in his tone.

"I…am fine, Michael. H-how are you?"

There was a pause. "Been better. I hear they want to keep me here for a while. I'm considering escape plans."

"You will do no such thing!" The alarm in Kitt's voice even surprised the AI.

"Kitt? You sure you're okay?"

"I am well, Michael. Please do not attempt to leave the hospital." He dragged medical information from the comlink signal. Michael was barely conscious. "You should rest."

"Don't wanna. Been sleeping far too much. And Bonnie was worried. Where are you, Kitt?" He could hear the frown in Michael's voice over the slurred syllables and could imagine Bonnie standing beside his bed handing over the comlink the moment his driver awoke, knowing Michael's voice would be the only one he would respond to.

"I'm-" What could he say? Could he lie? Could he tell the truth? "I will be there shortly."

Michael didn't answer for a while and for a moment, Kitt thought he might have drifted off to sleep, but then followed the familiar but mumbled words, "I need you, Kitt."

"I am coming, Michael. Please rest."

This time there was no answer, and a brief interrogation of the comlink confirmed the advent of slumber.

And Kitt turned his attention back to the man lying in front of him.

"I'm afraid I have to leave." And without saying anything further, he backed up, spun a wheel and climbed back onto the highway. Ignoring the man's pleas, he accelerated and headed back to his driver.

He assigned a secondary system to contact emergency services.

For some reason he cared little for the man's fate.

Or perhaps, too much.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  
FIN.


End file.
